by a river
by gealach89
Summary: "He wondered what would have his mother thought of it. He doubted this was what she'd meant, nor what she would have wanted." Fix-it for Claws of a Killer #3.


I'm crossposting stories from my AO3 account. This one I wrote right after Claws of a Killer #3. Reviews are welcome and appreciated!

_**by a river**_

So this was it, then.

He felt it in his bones; it was different this time. It was permanent. Oh, he'd had his share of "permanent" deaths and none of them had really stuck; but this time it was different. He knew it, and Creed knew it, something indefinite and almost sad in his gaze as he took in Daken's wounds. This wasn't how he'd have wanted to go, with the man's ugly muzzle as the last thing he saw; but he'd have to make do, he supposed.

Tilting his head, Daken caught the last rays of sunshine on his face, and let himself go.

* * *

He stood by a river.

He always stood by a river, and this time was no different. He'd always thought it a trick of his mind – wishful thinking on his part, ever since knowing he hadn't, after all, been abandoned – but there was always someone waiting on the other side, a figure that he'd never been quite able to recall until Logan had shown him her face.

She always waited for him, and she always smiled that sad smile when he was pulled back.

He wouldn't be pulled back this time, so he slowly lifted a hand in greeting. He felt shy and small, but there was something in his chest, soaring, fighting to get free.

_Finally_. He sighed, and took a step, and then another, until he was wading in the river. The water was cool, but not too much; fresh, and clean, and pure. He could almost make out her features, and she looked so beautiful, breath-takingly so, and sad.

She smiled as she held out a hand, and he lurched forward, thinking she'd catch his; but she raised it higher, in an unmistakable gesture:

_Stop_.

His heart – though he had none here – gave a stutter. And she was shaking her head, and _oh_, her voice – so sweet. He'd never heard her voice.

'_Not yet, my son_,' she said, her words searing themselves in his mind. '_Not yet_.'

'Okaasan,' escaped his lips, as his heart stuttered again. By now he knew it wasn't mere phantom pain.

The current was getting stronger. Every step was arduous, impossible. He was losing purchase.

'_You've been growing so much_,' she beamed with something – pride, maybe. He wouldn't know. But oh, he ached for it. '_There's so much for you yet. You've only now begun_.'

He whimpered. It was true, maybe, but she was here, so damn close, and he wanted to touch her, if only for a moment –

She was a retreating figure in the mist, and he let his hand fall, her voice echoing in his ears, tears streaming down his face.

'_Live, my son. Live well_.'

* * *

He jerked awake.

His head was lolling against a hard surface. He was sitting, and whatever he was sitting on was moving. He smelt gasoline, and blood, and two other scents.

Groaning, he opened his eyes.

Creed was looking at him from the rear-view window. "Gave us a scare back there, junior."

Daken grunted. He felt for wounds, and found most of them closing. "How?"

"You were right," Deathstrike said, her eyes fixed on the road. "Once we destroyed their device, our healing factors returned."

"Are those fucking _things_ gone?" If they weren't, he'd be more than happy to put an end to them.

Creed nodded. He didn't elaborate much further than that.

Daken looked out of the window, a pang of loss in his chest. He'd been so close, this time. So close.

But his mother was right. He had – so much now. He was starting to, anyway. If he let go, if he didn't allow himself to find himself – would he ever forgive himself? Would his mother?

And he didn't want to make Laura and Gabby cry.

Speaking of which, he needed to detach himself from the dynamic duo and get back to his sisters. Laura would want the intel.

He looked back at his travelling companions. Deathstrike was quiet and composed, focused on the road, but Creed was still throwing him a glance every now and then.

He scoffed in the man's general direction. "What?"

Creed harrumphed. "You were careless back there, junior. Could've died."

"I did die, you overgrown oaf." He crossed his arms, fighting to keep the pang of loss at bay and the irritation out of his voice. "Besides, I thought you wanted me dead?" There was something else, hidden there, but he wouldn't acknowledge it. It was preposterous.

"Where's the fun in letting you die like that?" Creed looked away from him and, finally, at the road. "Now, me killing you, on the other hand –"

He didn't need to check Deathstrike's rear-view window to know she was rolling her eyes at them. It seemed her favorite pastime.

"Something you want to share with the class, Deathstrike?" Daken hid his smile under the guise of a coughing fit. He was healing from a punctured lung, after all.

The woman muttered under her breath something that sounded suspiciously like '_men_.' He arched an eyebrow.

"This manchild," Deathstrike cocked her head at Creed, raising her voice when he protested, "said we ought to check if you were healing too. I agreed. So we came back for you."

There it was again, that thing at the back of his mind. Something like relief, tinged with something else. "How thoughtful of you."

"Quite." She was rolling her eyes again. "So if both of you are quite finished bickering –"

"I only said that because your sister would have tracked us down if we didn't at least _try_ to bring you back," Creed grumbled.

Daken hid his surprise behind a sneer. "Laura didn't know where I was," he lied smoothly, "Aww, Creed, I didn't think you cared. I'm touched."

Trouble was, he really was. Just a tiny bit. He supposed sharing a plane with the two of them and then, later, being together against the Orphans of X, had tempered a sort of twisted bond between them.

Which could always be useful and, well, it was strange. It wasn't like with Laura and Gabby – it could never be like it was with them – but he did enjoy the two killers' company. When Creed wasn't being an obnoxious fool and Deathstrike toned down her holier-than-thou attitude. Which was almost never, but they _had_ come back for him. Like so many times before, when they were working under Shogun.

He crunched up his nose. All that was well and good, but he couldn't lower his guard around them all the same. Something he was harshly reminded of when Creed spoke next.

"Of course she knows where you are. What do you take us for, idiots? You only agreed to our trip to stop us if we _did_ find the runt."

Daken scoffed, every nerve in his body on high alert. "That's –"

"- true," Deathstrike said serenely. She still wasn't looking at him, her hands at ten-to-two. "Honestly. Word of your stunt at that auction did get out, like you wanted. And you forget we lived together for _weeks _after that_. Creed_ I understand, but what do you take _me_ for?"

"_Hey_," Creed spluttered. Somehow, it didn't amuse Daken, who glanced quickly at the door. But they were amongst fields and there wasn't any cover for miles; even if he managed to roll out of the car, he'd have to fight anyway, and he was still injured.

But he had the time to stab one of them while still in the car. Deathstrike was closer –

"We _didn't_ find Logan," the woman continued, as if the mood hadn't shifted considerably, "So I'd say that's a moot point." She finally glanced at him, an eyebrow raised, completely unimpressed. "Keep your claws in, you idiot," she scoffed, something strangely soft in her voice. "You're still healing."

"Yeah, junior, calm your tits," Creed chimed in. "No one's gonna do anything stupid, okay?"

He ignored them, but didn't strike just yet. "Why did you invite me on this lovely trip if you knew I'd never let you do it?"

She shrugged. "The pros outweighed the cons. Say, if you'd started protesting Logan _wasn't _there, then it would have meant that he was."

He grimaced. That had backfired spectacularly. "That didn't work out so well, did it?"

She grimaced back. "No, it didn't."

_Served you right_. He didn't say that. Instead, he waved a hand. "So what's the plan now? We're just going to pretend we weren't trying to fuck each other up?" he sneered. "Will you be calling me next time you have a trail too?"

She didn't deign _that_ of an answer. "We could have just left you there," she pointed out as Creed scoffed his agreement, "Call it professional courtesy and we'll leave it at that."

"Yeah, don't worry, junior. We can always go at each other's throats next time." Creed had still to work on his "reassuring" smiles, it seemed.

Daken hesitated. They _had _come back. He somehow doubted that the plan was to bring him back just to kill him again. He wouldn't put it past Creed, but, well – the man _had _looked conflicted as he watched Daken die.

And he was still healing. No match for the two of them. By God, he would go down bringing at least one of them with him, but he _would _go down.

And hadn't he decided to stop that for a while?

"Whatever." He leaned back with a sigh. "Just wake me up when we're near a civilized place again."

Not that he'd really sleep. Not that they'd believe it if he pretended to.

But he did relax minutely. Ready to strike if needed, but half-heartedly.

No, they weren't going to fight. He was fairly sure of it.

It was strange, this thing they had going. A sort of begrudging respect, an eerie camaraderie, much eerier because of what they all meant to one another – because of their shared history. And yet it was there, exactly because of that.

He supposed he couldn't only have supremely healthy relationships. Laura wouldn't have understood; she felt nothing but disdain for the two killers. But this strange thing was intriguing too.

He wondered what would have his mother thought of it. He doubted this was what she'd meant, nor what she would have wanted.

But it was here, and he was going to risk over it and make mistakes.

That was living, too.


End file.
